Deus Misereatur
by Djinn
Summary: [Shounen ai/yaoi - m/m warning Fujima x Hanagata] Alternate Universe fic. A tragic, sensual tale of a growing forbidden romance between a vampire and a priest. Comissioned by Mae.
1. Chapter One: A Cruce Salus

After ff.net implemented the new rules [most of which I disagree with], I fled to mourn for a while, and returned to realise that I'd missed the back-up-your-now-illegal-fics-you-felon date [which I'd missed in my distress] by an hour. Tough. ^^;; But after a little lamenting over how my newest fic will never see the light of day [being rps. eh.], I decided to, a couple of weeks after finally finishing Deus Misereateur, upload all the [non-NC17 ^^;;] Slam Dunk fics I never got round to uploading over these two years. Most of these are FujiHana, posted at the SDBC [http://www.network54.com/Hide/Forum/13053] first, and quite old. Please bear with me. ^^; Yoroshiku na! Also, I'll have to **thank all the people who reviewed 'Hakanaki Hibi To...'** [http://fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=416078] so nicely! Though I think it's quite shoddily written now that I look back on it, it'll always be a very important work to me, and to see people actually like it is very moving. Thank you very much! If anyone actually likes FujimaxHanagata, I also happen to be the SDBC-endorsed FujiHana no Miko, and run a FujiHana shrine [http://fujihana.cjb.net] with the rest of my FujiHana fics, and quite a number of [old, though. -_- Haven't had time to upload my newer ones] fanart [and other resources], though it's been thrown into disarray right now by my exams and a previous hosting problem. Do drop by for a visit! 

**This is the last one.** This whole bloc of uploads I've done can be described simply as : 'Well, there were all these. And then there was Deus Misereatur.' This fic spanned about a year in the making, and is my longest effort so far. After the whole fuss, all I can say is : some parts are terribly awkward and contrived, and the fic mostly wrote itself. The planning is a little loose, mainly because I'm not in the habit of note-taking, and things disappear in the course of a year. In many ways, it's terribly flawed, and I like to think I've developed a little past that. But the fic can't be denied. It was written, and it's just something else. *shakes head* Can't really describe what I mean. But it's here, for better or worse. 

The chapter notes are kept mostly intact from their original posts, and so follow the news of the time. 

Three chapters in two days. I intend to finish this before the week is out. *hopes* This fic was what you could call commissioned by **Mae** [my sister - not Vaerys/Fuyukawa Mae-san!]. Basically, she drew a couple of character/poster pics, plonked them in front of me, and said : "I want you to write this series for me." [She can't write angst to save her life. ^.^;;] With the premise that Fujima's a vampire and Hanagata's a priest back in the 18 to 1900s and some sketchy idea of an ending, I rabidly plunged into the story without much thought, desperate to escape my schoolwork and all thoughts of the stupid International Friendship Day presentation [which now confronts me. ^.^;;]. I had some idea of what would happen in the five chapters I planned, but no idea ofhow it would progress. In a way, this fic kinda wrote itself. I have mixed feelings about this, really, but the ending is haunting my mind [can barely wait to get there, but still got a couple of thousand more words to go], so I'll think that one over. 

The one thing about Deus Misereatur, though, is that I kinda think of it as having a theme song. ^.^;; I was listening to **Luna Sea's 'Gravity'** when I was presented with the pictures, and the melancholic feel of the song stuck. Interestingly, at that time I didn't even know what the song was called, much less what it meant. To my immense relief, the meaning quite fits. If you, for one, are interested in knowing, the translation can be found at [http://www.saigo-no-megami.com/lslyrics/gravity2.htm]. The rest of the site, by the way, is just as good. I'm thinking of ripping the mp3 for those interested, but, hey, I don't think anyone is. 

**Technical Notes :** Alternate universe, historical setting [likely Victorian]. Language can be a little arcane in parts, but nothing incomprehendable. 

  


**Deus Misereatur**  
by Djinn  
  
**Chapter One - A Cruce Salus**

He could hear the sound of heavy footsteps behind him, the distant enraged shouts of the villagers. 

He didn't have much time. 

The houses around him were all shut and bolted, obstinately dark and silent - with a vampire on the loose, none of the women would risk an unwelcome visitor while their husbands were out hunting. 

And there were so many of them. 

He looked up at the sky, stared desperately at the starless twilight. The moon was out though, a luminescent wound that cast its cold rays upon the streets like a frozen silver monarch. 

His eyes fell upon the steeple of the church, the only building tall enough to stand a shadow in the beams. 

How ironic...and yet. 

With a soundless curse, he hurried towards the heavy oak doors. The anointed wood burned against his flesh, but even as he hissed in pain, he could feel the swift slice of a stake passing easily into his unbeating heart. That would hurt more, he knew, and for a much longer eternity. 

The doors were locked. 

He contemplated fleeing once more, but he could hear them coming closer, not just behind him, but all around him. They were closing in. 

He considered surrender - only briefly, considered a suicide of sorts, contemplated many things, till he decided that he would fight - or die fighting upon these very chapel steps. 

The witty side of him grinned fiercely at that - a fitting tribute to poetic justice. 

Till the doors, with a smooth slide, opened. 

"Who goes there?" 

The voice was low, soft, laced, like fine wine with the slightest hint of bitter almonds, with a deep and permeating sadness. 

It was music to his ears. 

The figure was in darkness - all he could see of it was an immense height, slivers of a clear, pale skin, sleek black hair in a neat cascade. 

He smiled charmingly, looked up into the shadowed face. 

"I need help, kind father. Please let me in." 

There was a pregnant pause. Finally. 

"Your eyes are wild. Have you come for confession?" 

A faint panic sparked his undead heart. This priest was taking too much time. 

"You could say so." 

He could hear the mob, their voices louder, clearer. 

Closer. 

The priest could hear them too. 

He raised his head, tilting an ear out to he darkness, his face revealed in moonlight. 

A prim, sombre face. Dark eyes, its lashes half-lowered, haunted behind a pair of severe black frames. Thus so did he see the face of his might-be slayer or saviour, and absently found it beautiful in an austere fashion. 

The eyes turned back to him now, still hooded, but with a deep intensity. 

"You're a vampire." 

He didn't reply, keeping his wild blue eyes on the sad, dark ones. 

The lashes flickered briefly, something seemed to wilt in this tall pale lily of a priest. 

"Come in." 

With a muttered word of gratitude, he slipped past the slender frame, trying not to shudder at the innate _holiness_ of the sanctuary. 

Terrible, but bearable. 

"Behind the altar," the priest told him softly, never turning back to look at him more, "hurry. They are upon you." 

He slid gracefully into the tight alcove, trying to keep the dizzying nausea from overpowering him. 

Once again, reliving the stake. An agony for eternity. 

They were on the doorstep. 

"Beggin' your pardon, father," their rough, coarse - _hateful_ - voices, "have you seen the evil one tonight?" 

"I have seen none," the sedate, sad voice of the priest, even in its lie. 

"Then what may you be doing, standing out here alone, father?" 

"I heard your voices, gentlemen. I came forth to offer my assistance. Do you require it?" 

A faint smile graced his face, despite the encroaching darkness. 

_Indeed dependable. My pretty pawn._

...The blood of this one would be sweet. 

"You shouldn't meddle where you're not wanted, father." 

An edge of hostility? 

And here, he'd thought he was the common enemy. 

"I will remember that. Goodnight, gentlemen." 

The same smooth slide of earlier echoed in its silence. There was a click of soft closing doors. 

"You can come out now." 

He acquiesced, stepping out thankfully. 

"It is almost dawn. My room lies behind the chapel proper. No light falls there. They will not find you." 

He stayed silent, studying the careful face of this young priest. 

"You're not European." He pronounced. 

"Neither are you. Not truly." 

"Very astute." 

"Thank you." 

"What is your name?" 

For the first time it came, a wry, wistful half-smile that made his sombre features blossom. 

"Will you be returning, sir? After you leave at morrow's dusk?" 

"Perhaps." 

"And perhaps not. My name is of no consequence." 

"But then," he parried smoothly, intrigued, "I would like to know the name of my benefactor." 

A quiet laugh. 

"Benefactor for this moment, but prey in the next." 

He applauded silently. 

"You seem to know a lot about vampires." 

"More than I should, sir. More than I should." 

The priest turned back towards the doors, glancing out the high, clear glass windows. 

"The mob is dying away. The first light is almost upon us. You should retire." 

"First, your name." 

"If you do not hurry, you will burn." 

"Then I will burn if I do not have your name." Charming. Seductive. As always. 

The priest cocked his head ever so slightly, that same half-smile lighting up his dark eyes. 

"Is it my concern if you burn, then?" 

"Perhaps it should be." 

The priest laughed again, true mirth in his voice this time. 

"My name, then, is Hanagata Touru. What, sir, then, is yours?" 

"A Japanese." 

"Indeed." 

"How fortunate. Mine is Fujima. Fujima Kenji." 

He looked truly surprised. A slow smile found its way upon his face then, a genuine smile. 

"Aa. O-genki desu ka? Fujima-san." 

"Genki desu. Okage-sama de…Hana-chan." A quick, sly grin. 

Another laugh, freer now. 

"I still do." He glided up to the priest, taking the opportunity to caress a flash of bare skin, peeking out from beneath a cassock sleeve. 

The priest abruptly turned away, casting a once-more hooded eye towards the windows. 

"Rest now, Fujima-san. I may be able to protect you from them, but I cannot save you from yourself." 

He nodded, eyeing the faint glow of daybreak. 

"Thank you for your kindness." 

The priest did not reply, back to him, a melancholy gaze at the sky reflected in the glass. He shrugged, turned to seek the room spoken of. He was weary, no doubt of that, fatigue from a night of flight. 

He had nearly left the chapel when the priest spoke up once more. 

"God bless you." 

_God bless you._

Why, he could only laugh at that. 

But it was a haunting phrase, an echoing phrase that followed him into his dreamless not-sleep. It was a haunting voice, a wistful, yearning voice that sighed into his ear. 

_God bless you._

And as he slipped into oblivion, he wondered. 

He wondered. 

**to be continued...**

  


Coming up next : **Chapter 2 - Confiteor**  
A long talk between two unlikely companions. 

  


The jury's still out on this one. :\ Hope you like it anyway. ^.^;; 

**Translations/Explanations :**

**Deus Misereatur** - May God have Mercy 

**A Cruce Salus** - Salvation from the Cross 

**O-genki desu ka?** - [Don't trust my Japanese!!!] Are you well? A common Japanese greeting. 

**Genki desu. Okage-sama de.** - I am well. By your grace, I am well. 


	2. Chapter Two: Confiteor

Chapter two here. A lot of background-setting conversation. Not a very exciting chapter, I'm afraid. 

  


**Chapter Two - Confiteor**

When he awoke, the priest - Hanagata, he remembered - was in the room. He sat up among the covers that he did not remember employing...the young priest's doing, he gathered. Useless, being undead, he never felt cold...but nonetheless thoughtful. 

A single candle illuminated the close stone walls. He stayed there, unmoving and unblinking in the near-darkness, watching the priest at his work. His sober features were sterner still as he scrutinised the voluminous bible in front of him, transcribing verses into a nearby sermon-to-be. The long, dark hair, caught up in a binding tie behind his nape slipped smoothly across his shoulders as he worked, a few stray locks escaping the tie - only to be pushed away irritably by an absent hand. 

Studying him like this, it was more obvious that he was only a boy - he could not have been twenty. He could not have been more than his own age when he was turned. 

...Such a melancholic expression for one so young. He never remembered having such an expression on his own face. 

Of course, he was never one for grief. 

"Expecting a crowd?" He finally spoke, his voice echoing slightly off the thick stone walls. 

The priest started in surprise, looked up to see his lazy smile and relaxed. 

"No," he replied, closing the tome, "they never come. But I write the sermons all the same. Just in case they come one day." 

"Great faith." 

"There is nothing else for me to do here. I cannot leave the church." 

"Why...Afraid of the vampires?" 

The priest cast a sharp glance over at his mocking tone. 

"No. Afraid for the people. They hate me, perhaps enough to kill me. It would be fair hard for murderers to pass through the Pearly Gates." 

"I should think so," he laughed, "why do they hate you so?" 

The priest dried his quill, laid it aside. He propped his chin upon his fine-fingered hands, giving him a reproving stare. 

"You have my name, Fujima-san," he recriminated, "you hardly need my life story as well." 

"What if I want to have it?" 

"Then you'll just have to be disappointed." 

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," he quipped wryly, surprised at his own light jest and willingness to impart a tale he hadn't looked back on for fifty years, "I have no plans to leave this refuge just yet...not while the mob is still nigh. You might as well keep me company - come! Warm me with your story...or you could warm me with your flesh." A sharp grin. 

The priest shook his head, hiding a smile. 

"My story then," he yielded, shifting back to settle more comfortable in his hard wooden chair, one leg over the other and his hands over them, "After all, it is hardly a secret here." 

The priest hitched in a breath to start, but hesitated and stopped short. Turning troubled eyes on him, he shook his head. 

"I don't know where to start. Why don't you ask me what you want to know?" 

"But I want to know everything." He persisted. 

"You do not," A small, sad smile, "you are merely curious. You will leave soon, will you not?" 

He had to concede. Taking a moment to ponder, he finally remarked : 

"You seem to know a lot about vampires." 

The priest was silent for a moment. Deliberately, he unbuttoned the high cleric collar, pulling it down to reveal a smooth, pale neck...save for a marked scar area, where a rougher, darker flesh clearly branded two once-puncture holes. 

"Your...lover?" He finally conjectured. 

"My father, actually." The old wry smile. 

"What happened?" 

The priest lowered his eyes as he buttoned up the collar again, starting his narration in a low voice. 

"My birthplace...is Japan. Kanagawa. You might not have heard of it - it's just a little village -" 

"I've heard of it." 

"Really?" 

"My grandfather was from Kanagawa." 

"Aa? Hontou? Have you ever been there?" 

"Regrettably, no. Someday I shall be, if I can." 

The wistful smile. 

"I wish I could go with you." 

"Why not, then?" 

"We shall see." 

"Do continue." 

"My father, he was an actor. An _onnagata_. One of the best. It runs in the family, this trade. My mother was just a little serving-girl. It was a great honour for her family when my father married her. But she died very soon." 

"Natural causes?" 

"Not quite. Being an _onnagata_...my father attracted a lot of attention from...strange patrons. One of these was an European lord...who only ever watched his night performances." 

"He was a vampire." 

"He was. And soon, so was my father." 

"Did he take the change well?" 

"Too well. He cared naught for us once he turned. He killed my mother. She would never have expected it. To the last, she believed he loved her." 

"...And you?" 

"Almost. Had not my master come, I would have -" 

"Master?" 

"The old priest of this church. He passed away late yesteryear." 

"I see. Go on." 

"My master had been a rather reputable slayer in his time. But when he...saved me, he was already seventy-nine. Fortunately for me, he'd been on one last hunt before retirement - a hunt that brought him to Kanagawa." 

"The European lord." 

"Precisely." 

"Did he find him?" 

"No. He found my father." 

"Ah." 

"Indeed. He took me in after that. Brought me to this place." 

"How old...were you?" 

"Eight." 

"It's been..." 

"Ten years already." 

"He died last year?" 

"December. He always thought winter the finest season of the year. It was his last season, in the end." 

There was a silence. 

"...It's been hard, hasn't it?" 

A pause as the priest struggled for words. 

"Yes. It has." 

"Why do they hate you so?" 

"Perhaps they fear me. They know what I am." 

"What are you, then?" 

"A Japanese. A vampire's son. Nobody." 

"Hanagata." 

"Ah, you do remember my name." He sounded faintly pleased. 

"Did you love him?" 

"Who?" 

"Your master." 

"No. I was very grateful. I respected him deeply." 

"Why didn't you love him? You seem the sort to love." 

The sweet, sad smile found it's familiar place once more. 

"You see, Fujima-san. After a while, you forget how to love." 

"Really? I wouldn't know," He leaned back against the stone, "I don't think I ever learned to love." 

"Why not?" 

"It just didn't happen. I don't seem to be missing out on anything in particular, at any rate." 

"I wouldn't say that." 

"Fine words, coming from one who's forgotten how to love." 

"I know. I won't cast stones." The priest settled with his head cushioned upon his arms, arranged carefully on the table. "But I'm trying to remember how. Perhaps you should learn." 

"Perhaps." He laughed. "This doesn't seem to be a fitting topic for two men to talk about in a dimly-lit room...sex, I would think, is much better..." 

What seemed a slight flush traced the priest's cheekbones. He laughed once more. 

"Let us talk about other things then," the young priest hurriedly said, "What about you, Fujima-san? You promised to tell if I told." 

"True, true," he drew his knees up and rocked lightly, "my story is hardly as spectacular, though." 

"Fine words, coming from a vampire." 

"Oh, my turning was quite unexciting." 

"Nevertheless." 

"If you insist. My grandfather, as I've told you, was from Kanagawa. He was brought back here as a manservant to one of the ambassadors. Luckily for my father, a noble's pampered daughter took quite a shine to him. My father, amazingly, turned out conscientious. I, on the other hand, was a spoiled brat." A sharp laugh. "I fell in with some ill-advised company, a vampire being one of the cohort. And look where I am now." 

A sad sympathy shimmered in the priest's eyes. 

"I'm sorry." 

"Well, I'm not. Not at all." A fierce, fang-bared grin. "I've never been more alive than when I was undead. All the treasure in the world, they're nothing compared to living off your own quick wits and the thrill of the hunt." 

"Your own quick wits nearly deserted you last night, Fujima-san." 

"No they didn't." 

"Didn't they." 

"They led me to you, didn't they?" A mischievous glint in his feral eyes. 

"So they did," a warm chuckle, "so they did." 

"But, jest aside, why did you save me? Was it because of your...past?" 

"No, it was because I fell madly in love with you the moment I laid my eyes on you." 

"Then lie with me tonight." 

"I was jesting!" A quick alarm. 

"Ah, but I said not to." 

"How is it that you can jest and I cannot?" Indignant, yet amused. 

They laughed then, two young men - one eighteen and too old, one sixty-eight and yet no older - and smiled at each other in company. 

"Finish your story, Fujima-san, before daybreak. You slept longer than you're used to, I warrant." 

"Hai, hai. I rampaged cities and countries alike, building a reputation for myself, and eventually ended up being outnumbered in an insignificant town such as this." 

"How degrading." 

"Precisely. Won't you come over here and soothe my injured ego?" A suggestive baring of fangs. 

"No, I _won't_, Fujima-san." The flustered priest looked away nervously, "But that does remind me...do you need...to feed?" 

He took a second to contemplate this - he'd completely forgotten that he hadn't fed tonight, nor last.But he didn't feel the bloodlust, not even where it usually tore at the fraying corners of his consciousness. 

And the mob...He shook his head. 

"It isn't necessary, not yet. Besides...what could a priest like you do, hunt me down a virgin sacrifice?" 

The priest dropped his awkwardness and shot him a reproving glare. 

"...Or are _you_ the virgin sacrifice?" Another lustful flash of fang. 

The priest shook his head, trying to hide an irrepressible smile. 

"Are you always like this?" 

"I should say. Get used to it." He laughed. 

They bantered thus for the rest of the night, he growing fonder of the priest's half-smile than the perpetual melancholy he'd thought was a permanent occupant. The hours flew fast, faster even than when he was on his beloved hunt. It was only when his eyes grew weary that they knew the sky outside was blazing with sun. He retired for another night then, bidding the priest good day as he slipped back into the covers, the other leaving the room to tidy the altar. 

Many things drifted past the murky depths of his consciousness as he lay in the stupor between sleep and wake that even vampires possessed. Many things that he had said, had done, particularly these past two nights. 

_...dependable... _

...pretty...pawn... 

...The blood of this one would be sweet. 

And it disturbed him, and he wondered, drowsily, irritably, why. 

He wondered. 

**to be continued...**

  


Coming up next : **Chapter 3 - Caeli Enarrant Gloriam Dei**  
Reality starts to intrude upon the sanctuary, and hidden emotions are close to being uncovered. 

  


This chapter was draggier than I planned. The conversation here just went on and on and did not listen to me. >. 

**Translations/Explanations :**

**Confiteor** - I confess 

**_onnagata_** - 'Woman form.' A kabuki term. As women were not allowed to take to the stage, specialised male actors known as _onnagata_ took the female roles. 


	3. Chapter Three: Caeli Enarrant Gloriam De...

Chapter three. Things heat up. 

  


**Chapter Three - Caeli Enarrant Gloriam Dei**

The room was silent when he opened his eyes. He sat up quickly, frowning as he realised that the room was empty as well as silent. 

_Where is he? It is already night..._

He slipped out of bed, smoothing down his fine suit and cloak - a little worn from wear, but still shining with its extravagance. It was time to leave this little haven then. 

He heard voices as he approached the chapel proper, and for a while thought to return hastily. But one of them was the priest's - though seeming gentler and lighter than usual...and the other was high and young. 

A child. 

He peeked curiously out from behind the altar, glancing at the statue and cross radiating consecration in pure annoyance for a brief moment. 

It _was_ a child. A little girl. 

She looked remarkably small next to the exceptionally tall priest, an effigy of innocence as she simply set in one of the pews, wide eyes following the priest's every move as he dusted the unused stands. 

He took a moment to look towards the high windows. Ah. He'd woken early this night. It was but dusk, the last rays of the sun painted the sky with a faint rosy glow, a sight he'd not seen for fifty or so years now. 

It was beautiful. He'd forgotten how beautiful it was. 

How much like blood. 

He shook his head. The familiar bloodlust was back, in its familiar position, tearing, needing. 

But bearable. 

Hanagata was speaking now, never looking up from his dusting, movements smooth and graceful despite his awkward height. 

"I don't think all vampires are bad. Some vampires are probably just...misguided. Perhaps they don't really want to kill." 

"But mama and da say so. They say that the vamp're will eat us if he catches us." 

"Most of them certainly will! Which reminds me, it's near dark. Does your mama know you're here?" 

"No, but she wouldn't let me come if she knew. Mama and da don't want me to talk to you, Broth'r Touru." 

"They're probably right too," his voice tinted a shade darker now, "I'm a bad influence, aren't I?" 

"But I don't think so! You're the nicest boy I know, Broth'r Touru! I wanna marry you when I grow up!" 

The priest laughed at that, surprised, frank, amused laughter. He nearly laughed himself, except that he was not supposed to be there. 

"Silly girl, you can't marry me." 

"Why not? ...Is it because you like boys, Broth'r Touru? Da said you like boys, not girls. Is it?" 

He hitched in a useless breath at that childish, thoughtless accusation. Hanagata was silent. 

_Was it...is it true?_

"You silly thing," the priest finally spoke, the wistful smile on his lips, a soft edge in his quiet voice, "I can't marry you because I'm a priest." 

"Oh...right...priests can't marry, can they, Broth'r Touru? Mama said that before." 

"That's right, dear." He turned abruptly, whisking the duster out of sight. "It's dark now, you'd best run along home, before you drive your mother mad with worry." 

"'Kay, Broth'r Touru. I'll come see you again when I can!" 

She scrambled off the pew effortlessly, running down the aisle and easily slipping out the heavy oak doors - as if she'd done it many times before. With a merry wave, she was gone, skipping into the night. 

"So...do you like boys?" He laughed now, revealing his presence as he slid out from behind the wood and stone. 

"_That_, now, would hardly be of your business, Fujima-san." The priest turned with a ready smile. 

"It could be." 

"No, thank you. I, for one, fully intend to report at the Pearly Gates with my priesthood and my _chastity_ intact." 

He shrugged. 

"Seeing as I'm already doomed for hell, I might as well enjoy the ride." 

The priest fell silent at that, turning sharply away. 

"I hope you're not doomed for hell." 

The duster out again, flicking over non-existent layers of dust. He stared at the priest. Long, hard. Softened. 

"I'm a vampire. I don't even have a soul." 

"Don't you." 

"I don't." 

"Everything that loves has a soul." 

"I told you. I don't love." 

"Don't you." 

Laid down the duster, turned to look at him with shaded dark eyes. 

"I don't." The words dropped. Almost regretful. 

"Perhaps you'll learn someday. Perhaps when I remember." The priest bent over to retrieve the duster. "Then perhaps you'll have a soul. Then perhaps...perhaps we could meet sometimes, after we die. The two of us." He hesitated, smiled shyly. "Perhaps...we could both go to heaven. I would like that." 

He drank in the words, the soft wistful hope, almost believed it, for more than a moment. Found that same hope stroking tender tendrils around his still heart. 

But the _need_ at the edges of his peripheral mind reminded him, as always, of other things. 

"Don't be silly," he used the other's words, but harsher, sharper, "I know my fate. I will hunt tonight. I will not return." 

"The mob is still out there." A faint desperation lined the words, though the priest had looked down from the beginning of his spiteful line, staring at the duster clenched helplessly in his hands. 

"I care nothing for the mob!" 

A heavy silence. He glared at the priest, a burning not-quite-hatred building in his brain, rising in his throat, daring - just daring him - to say something - anything! - that would justify his leaping the few feet to rip his pretty throat out and discover just how sweet that blood was. 

No words came forth. A gentle wetness fell, staining the floorboards. 

He struggled with the tumult of conflict that suddenly roiled within him. Struggled, tried, and eventually settled for a gruff : 

"I hate it when men cry." 

That jolted the priest, if nothing else. With a quick, tidy swipe, he was looking up with overly bright, but hard, eyes. 

"You're free to leave now." 

They faced each other like that for a suspended moment, a breaking-turning-point. 

Then he crossed the distance, roughly pulled the other man into an awkward embrace, painfully conscious of the height difference between them that made his hold difficult. The tears had started again, now near-silent sobs that tried so hard to subside but failed. 

"Why do you cry?" He whispered with a tenderness he forgot he ever possessed. 

A brief moment of ragged hitching. Then the priest had shifted free of his embrace, his fear and grief and desperation clutching at him from shimmering dark eyes. 

"Hell...is a terrible place...you'll burn there...I have no wish to see you burn, Fujima-san!" 

And the sobs returned, and he was at a loss, murmuring soft consolations into a mass of silky dark locks as he carefully led him into the room he knew so well, settling the other gently on the bed. 

"Tell me. Where do you sleep...when I am here?" 

Vague, absent gestures at the cold stone floor. 

"Not tonight. Tonight we sleep together. Here." 

What seemed at first to be protest dissolved into a weak nod. He smiled briefly, a fierce, protective grin as he smoothly shed the other's robes and his own cloak to press more of bare skin against skin. Offering solace in his touch, though a cold caress, the whisper of his fingers across flesh. 

Hours later, thoughtfully, he pressed a chaste kiss into the dark head laid solemnly upon his still chest. He wondered. Tried to ignore, to shut out, the gnawing bloodlust in his brain. He wondered. 

_...The blood of this one would be sweet. _

...Is it my concern if you burn, then? 

...I don't love... 

"...I have no wish to see you burn." 

He wondered. 

**to be continued...**

  


Coming up next : **Chapter 4 - Ad Perpetuam Rei Memoriam**  
A shocking incident occurs, one thing leads to another...and...a fall from grace...is imminent. 

  


This chapter, by the end, really wrote itself. [And no! They did not have sex! >.< i>Mae~.... Not yet, at any rate.] The later parts of this, from 'heaven' onwards, were not planned at all. :\ 

**Translations/Explanations :**

**Caeli Enarrant Gloriam Dei** - The Heavens Bespeak the Glory of God 


	4. Chapter Four: Ad Perpetuam Rei Memoriam

Chapter four. [**SEX**. There is **SEX** in here, euphemistically and artistically portrayed R-type sex, but sex nonetheless, so stay away if you don't truck with it [though I _will_ mark it out.] Oh, and basketball.] Betcha thought this fic was dead. :P Being terribly dissatisfied with the original plot for this chapter, it was shelved for a long time, till inspiration suddenly hit me a week ago. A strange compulsion grabbed me on Monday somehow, and I scrawled out 7 sides of foolscap with a borrowed red pen all through lectures and tutorials through two days. Am currently doing the same for the last chapter. A lot of the chapter wrote itself, and I was scribbling like a writer possessed, so...well. There. 

  


**Chapter Four - Ad Perpetuam Rei Memoriam**

He awoke with a prickle of alarm behind his eyelids, that he had not felt in some decades now. 

The bed was empty, the neat, folded spread next to him long cooled, his own muddled nest stone cold. Hurriedly, forsaking the cloak, he rushed out into the chapel, his long-dead heart pounding a phantom beat, high in his throat. 

"Hana..." he rasped, surprised to find his throat dry, cleared it, called again, urgent and strident, "Hanagata!" 

There was no reply. 

He could smell blood, a familiar, searing, heady aroma of copper and life. 

He could smell... 

He... 

- choked off the rising bloodlust, bit back the swelling growl in his throat, pushed down the want - the need - to feed that had gone unanswered for days - nights - now. 

There were more things to worry about. 

Worse things. 

"Hanagata?" Desperation. 

There was a flutter, he heard, on the edges of his enhanced senses. 

A shift. Between the pews. 

"H...here." Quiet. Unsteady. Heavy-hearted. 

He rushed over to the last two benches. Halted, staring down with a rising dread. 

"It's not so bad. You don't have to look at me like that." 

The impossibly long legs were drawn up together, knees pressed against his chest, elegant fingers, arms encircling them. The tie had broken loose, and the long dark hair fell in silken waves, hanging heavy around, hiding, the pale face. 

_That's right, concentrate on the white..._

Choke off, bite back, push down. 

_...not the red. Not the red._

He knelt, a strangely pious gesture, trying to ignore the wood of the pews. Gently skimmed his cold fingers over a gash on the face. 

"What happened." 

"Nothing." He barely flinched. 

"You know of all the things I am, an idiot is not one of them." 

"Nothing you should be concerned with." 

"Dammit, preacher, tell me." 

"Am I 'preacher' now?" 

A wry smile, his eyes, where not blackened, glimmered with melancholic mirth. 

"You know what I mean." 

"Mister Vampire, sir, concern yourself not with my affairs." 

He paused, narrowed his ruby gaze. 

"Was it about me?" 

The priest stared, an inscrutable light, turned away shortly. 

"No." 

"Thou shalt not lie. I thought you intended to meet your maker with a clean slate." 

"I do not lie." 

"And I tell the truth." Deep, angered, clutching him by the shoulders, steel fingers digging into flesh. 

The priest turned back his gaze, the inscrutability still maddeningly in place. Their eyes locked for a time, till the silence was broken by softness. 

"Ay. Ay, you do." 

"So it was about me." 

"Nay. Concern yourself no more. It is nothing." 

"PREACHER!" 

"I WILL NOT SPEAK MORE OF IT!!" 

The echoes reverberated round the chapel like dying thunder. Their gazes stayed, will against will. 

To his dim surprise, he was the one to break away. 

"Come. I'll help you with the wounds." Staring at the floor, reaching out a hand. 

"I need not your help." 

"I would offer it." He looked back, impassive, yet impassioned. "...Hana-chan." 

For the first time since evening, a new light entered the priest's eyes. Hesitant, flickering, but alive. An imperceptible nod, he accepted the hand. 

* * * * * * * 

The priest settled himself delicately on the edge of the bed, clasping together his robes even as he undid them. Turning his back on the sight, he filled the hand-basin from the small barrel placed in the corner, smiled with some exasperation as he returned at the pious modesty. 

"Shed them all. There is nothing I haven't yet seen, since last night." 

"Last night was different, Fujima-san...and you weren't meant to look last night." A sharp, chiding note. 

"Peace, peace. I turned my eyes away where they were not allowed. But drop your robes all the same...I want to see your wounds." Gentle now. 

The priest hesitated, acquiesced, fever-red playing about his cheeks. 

His paleness seemed gold and white in the faded light. The red and purple of blood and bruises were a marked mar, ugly and cruel. He dipped the washcloth in the basin, ran it lightly against the lip of a cuts, pressed it again more firmly. 

The clear water soon turned crimson. He traced the pale pink wet distractedly over sharp white planes of flesh, taking care not to disturb the now clean injuries. 

"You're quite the fit one, for one in such a bookish vocation as a clergyman,' he mused, fascinated by the glistening pink droplets trickling slowly down smooth muscles. 

He was rewarded by a heartfelt chuckle. 

"A bookish profession? Why, Fujima-san, think you I do naught but write sermons all day long?" 

"What else, for a preacher without a congregation?" 

"Surely you jest! You only see me during the night, dear sir, I have much work to do in the day!" 

He suppressed his laughter, gestured at the sky they could not see. 

"It is near winter. I must to gather wood. The water needs drawing from the well - it will be harder when it ices over. Sometimes the church needs repairing - there is no goodly carpenter to help me here...nay, the only carpenter in this town...he took apart the frames with his hammer once. He and the butcher both." 

The amusement subsided. He looked away. 

"What of sport, then? Naught but work all year long?" his voice was gentle, coaxing in a sober fashion it had never been. 

"Sport...there is." A sly, embarrassed smile, "I am particularly fond of one." 

"What, then?" 

* * * * * * * 

"My master taught this me." The priest gestured at the basket nailed high on the trunk, "There was none of such in Kanagawa." 

He stepped forward to the strange object, staring with frank interest. 

"No. I would think there are none." He acquiesced, "I have seen them. In London, I think. The postillons...they were playing some sort of game." 

"I've never been to London. I would have like to see that." A wistful note, "I've only ever played this with my master...and soon he grew too old, and I've played alone ever since." 

He laughed softly, casting his eyes down, "It wouldn't have been fair anyway. I was too tall for him, he said." 

"The baskets I've seen in London...they didn't have their bottoms out like this." 

"I did that myself. It's easier that way." 

"I can see why. I remember the retrieval fuss." 

"We played it with this -" drawing out from the well-kept bushes a rattan ball, "I coated it with melted gum - it bounces." 

The shy, eager smile once more. Almost proud, but afraid. 

Charming. 

He took the ball gingerly, wondering about the rough-smooth, alien covering. Dropped it experimentally - caught it in surprise as it bounced back off the packed, level sand-ground into his quickly grasping hands. 

Marvelled at it. 

Once more, off the ground, and he looked up sharply, took aim, and sank it neatly into the basket. 

There was a short stunned silence as the ball rolled back to their feet. 

He picked up the ball again, turned to look the priest in the eye, grinning ferally. 

"Let's have a game. You're not too tall for I." 

The priest stared, struggled for words, gave up and nodded weakly. 

"Alright." 

The game was remarkably well matched, height and skill against sheer reflexes and vampire sense. Between themselves they could scarce believe it, mounting pride pushing on the punishing competition. 

"Why, Fujima-san, not bad for one who has never played such a game before!" 

"I'm a fast learner, " an arrogant smirk, "as I am in all things. And you, for an invalid, you're holding up quite well." 

"In the face of the game, such irritations are insubstantial." For the first time since they'd met, a sharp, feral grin, drunk on life. 

They paused, stopped then, in place, in time, staring at each other. His eyes were red without white, swelled to luminous orbs in the lunar glow. The priest's own dark eyes glimmered, divine and mysterious by the moon. And there was something there, something beneath the wildly different frames, different thoughts, different lives, that leaped up and cracked silently in the still, crisp night air, thickening it, daubing it with a muddy passion. There must have been something, that made the priest's eyes darken deeper, made him swallow painfully, a fleeting flicker of a thought that read : _I could die for this man._

His own thoughts were better kept dark. Better voiced in action than words. Better to close the distance between them with a predatory _pounce_ of sorts, that the priest was on the ground, he was on the priest, and tearing at his robes. 

The priest's white skin glowed dimly in the darkness, his eyes hazy with wanting. 

He had never truly seen an angel before. 

"You're beautiful." He growled out past a mouthful of white tenderness, ripping apart the ties with his talon-nails to let the black silk fall loose, ripping apart the loose shirt. Fingering coldly with hot passion the air-chilled flesh, palming urgently for the flutter of living warmth beneath it. 

Not as cold as he. Not at all. 

"You're crazy." The priest laughed shakily, eyes glazing over with each quick, shallow gasp. 

He paused, mildly annoyed. "You're supposed to say something along the lines of 'No one's ever told me that before', not call me crazy." 

"You're wrong on both counts then, Fujima-san. My mother used to tell me that all the time...and she was crazy." 

"Oh. Was she, really?" 

"Certainly so, to believe that my father wouldn't hurt her after he'd turned." 

His own cold blood pounded against his heart. For a moment, it sickened him. 

"I wouldn't say so." 

The priest fell still too, studying him with dark eyes. 

"No. No, perhaps she wasn't." And drew him closer with long arms, soft like lilies, and kissed him. 

**[We interrupt this broadcast to bring you a public announcement service : THE SEX STARTS HERE.]**

His desire burned anew, he pushed purposefully at his own belt, undid it nimbly, pushed that and that beneath down until his eager member, pale and hard, like a marble shaft sprang proudly forth. The priest's gaze fell, fixed, fascinated, allowing him to press him down, push his legs apart. A brief scuffle, his hand had found its target, here pink, pink and warm with a shy, blushing heat. A glistening trail ran down the tender head; he brushed it up, smoothed it into the sensitive flesh with a thumb. The priest gasped, shuddered, jerked back with his eyes squeezed shut. A steady clear trickle replaced its predecessor. He smiled, tried to stifle his delight, coating his fingers in the slick and bringing them down to work a questing finger into the virgin passage. The priest tensed below him, the tight sphincter clenching down on his finger with at once fear and need. He said nothing, leaned down to lap at the stream. 

"Aa-ah!" A piteous, helpless cry, accompanied by a violent jerk. The hips thrust back into the intrusion, impaled itself. 

"You taste good." The edge of a fang gleaming in the moonlight. "Sweet." 

Pulled out, slicked more, worked two fingers in this time. More, deeper, till he withdrew his hand, grasped the raised knees, rammed into the waiting vice. 

"Aa_AH_!" The priest's cry echoed in the clearing. He paused, keeping it deep, deep within, squeezed tight, almost painfully. 

"How is it? Is it alright?" 

The priest slowly opened his eyes, forced fists to unclench. 

"It's...it's a bit cold." 

The words hit him, heavy and almost as cold as his own body. For the first time in fifty years, he felt...inadequate. He would have wilted, then, there, if the velvet wetness around him wasn't so inviting. 

"I'm sorry." 

"N - no! I...I like it." Blinking away tears, a wavering smile. "Please." 

He nodded, his undead heart heavy in his chest, thrust, hard. 

More, faster, with a growing, clawing, desperate urgency, a burning need, losing himself in the heady unworldly sensation, that blurred his vision and made him forget he could not breathe. 

Below him, he dimly noted, with some sharp satisfaction, the priest had started moving, slamming himself downward and upwards to meet his thrusts, emitting soft little cries of hunger, uncontrollable, uncontrolled. 

It seared him, it burned him to the core, warming his cold blood. 

Once more - hard, and stars exploded behind his shut eyes, and for a brief shining moment, a second of unspeakable clarity, it flamed, branded itself into his inexistent soul forever, that he would never forget. 

A feral howl, and slammed forward, pumping jets of cold, searing seed into the deep, grasping sweetness. A sudden contraction, a hot splash of wet across his belly, and he knew the priest had climaxed too. 

He smiled, closed his eyes as the last of the sensation ebbed away. Gently withdrew, dripping a trail of slick on the ground, smearing on skin. He gathered the priest into his arms, wiping wet eyes, whispering meaningless endearments. 

**[THE SEX IS OVER. We now return you to your regular broadcast.]**

He had never been in love before. 

He no longer wondered. 

* * * * * * * 

He pressed against the coldness tightly, eyes dark and staring. It was almost dawn. 

Reluctantly, he raised himself, reaching for thick glasses, forsaking them as hot tears gathered anew. Brushed absently at them as he left the room. 

The sky in the window was a blur, dark. He could not see. 

"Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned," he murmured, voice thick and tremulous even in this familiar confession, "I have despoiled myself for a creature of darkness. I have tasted...partaken of the forbidden fruit, and I have...I have...fallen in love..." Helpless, hitching, burying his face in trembling hands. 

"Forgive me, Lord, I see no sin in love!" An irrepressible cry. 

"...Forgive me...Lord...I have served thee...faithful, true...for many years...I never meant...to sin...I have tried, but I have found myself mortal...and wanting...I seek...I seek...no forgiveness...forgiveness...I seek only...only that you might know my love for thee...my Lord...please give me...but a sign..." 

He wept silently, leaden despair lacing his ponderous heart. After a time, he rose. 

Hand pressed against the glass. It was storming. Thundering, the sky clouded with dark and grey and some great sorrow; rain pouring down, blurring the windows, flowing, a mirror of the tears on his face. 

But somehow...somehow...there was...a rainbow... 

...And behind...the sunrise. 

He stared, mesmerised, wide-eyed in wonder, for a moment. 

And then, with a growing, alarming dread, realised that there were rain-hooded figures, advancing, moving with a purpose. 

Towards him. 

Realised that they were coming back. 

**to be continued...**

  


Coming up next : **Chapter 5 - Consummatum Est**  
It is completed. 

  


O.o *pretends she's not one bit embarrassed at all, oh no, especially not when she was writing *that* in school, not at all* Well, I can't really think of anything to say. Not truly satisfied, as usual, but really grateful that I could actually write it. 

**Translations/Explanations :**

**Ad Perpetuam Rei Memoriam** - For the Perpetual Remembrance 


	5. Chapter 5: Consummatum Est

Finally. The end. Was terribly sick and depressed for the last week, so I put it to good use by staying up till 2.30am last night to finish scribbling [in secret. my mom would skin me. Very ironically, Interview with a Vampire was screening on cable that night. O.o [Though I didn't get to watch it. >.  


**Chapter 5 - Consummatum Est**

To his surprise, he awoke alone. His clothes were neatly laid out beside him. He stared at them, an unreadable, unfamiliar fear flooding his undead soul. He didn't understand. 

He was afraid he did. 

Thoughtfully, he dressed, piece by piece, methodically, finally fitting the clasp of the cloak - just one night and already it seemed heavier than he could remember - into place. Hiding hurt away in his swift steps, he entered the chapel. 

The first thing that assaulted him was the thunder, the roar of the rising storm. 

Then he saw the priest. 

A still, straight-backed figure, just beyond the large wooden doors, staring out into the dark. 

He moved towards him, coming to a rest just slightly behind, that he could see the night as well. 

"Perhaps you should leave." 

"Perhaps not." 

"You have to leave." 

"I see no reason." 

"They might return. Again." 

"Let them come. I fear no one." 

"You are foolish. Your end will bring no good." 

"I wish not to leave you." 

"I wish you to leave me." Harsh. The priest turned now, looked down at him from his full, stern height. 

The words cut deeper than any stake he had ever felt, burnt worse than holy water. 

"You cannot." 

"Just leave, Fujima-san!", righteous anger flashing darkly from dark eyes, "don't be so presumptuous, that you would say what I can and what I cannot!" 

"Hanagata -" 

"Think you that your coming did me good? It did not! All you have done is bring me sin!" 

For a moment he was hurt. Stunned. Vulnerable. Then a darker, stinging betrayal coursed, beating through his veins in place of life. 

"Last night," he snarled, a wild beast's throaty growl, "that would not have been what you said. Last night, you spread your legs for me like a whore. You pulled me to you, you moaned and cried for more." 

The priest had his back turned once more. He was trembling, and when he spoke, so was his voice. 

"Well, then. More fool I, last night." 

There was silence. He stood there, burning blood eyes into the ramrod frame. 

It wavered. 

"You must leave." Weary now. Heavy. "They have been here. They suspect - I think they know. They will be here again, for you." 

A stirring swell of recognition, realisation punctuated his words. 

"Then...the wounds. Last night. It was they?" 

"That - is none of your business!" 

"If they come for me and hurt you -" 

"Go, Fujima-san! I have shielded you twice - nay, thrice, with that night you entered my life - I cannot shield you more!" 

"...Do you hold it against me?" 

"What?" 

"These new marks on your skin. You hold them against me, that you must have me leave?" 

Disbelief and anger warred, but resolved into pure emotion. 

"What if it be so? It is precisely so! Before you came...I had little - but least wise I had my goodness, my Lord! Now I have nothing but these marks of flesh, and the black marks of my sin! You have taken all I possess...now leave me, ever more!" 

Thunder rolled, swelled his words. Lightning hardened his face, made it alabaster in severity. 

There was an unfamiliar pressure behind his eyes. He narrowed them, willed it away. His heart hardened, shrouded itself in impenetrable hate. He considered, deliberated, tearing out the priest's white throat, but turned the thought away. Despite his anger, the priest was beautiful, a marble statue, cold and unmoved. Fixed this vision, forever. 

He turned, proud and impassive, and strode into the storm. 

* * * * * * * 

In sixty-seven years he had never felt this pain. Never felt such choler, vile and bitter, warming him with hate. At the same time, a grieving, equally bitter, dulling the hate. 

He did not know what to think. He barely knew what to feel. 

Hurt, certainly. Hateful. 

Ah, ah, so very sad. 

He'd always thought that heartbreak was a mere fictitious piece of foolish sentimentality, but he could feel it now, sharp and aching, fancied he felt the hurtful, steady pumping of blood gushing sorrowfully out from ragged chambers. Cut deep enough to make him wonder, even sympathise, briefly with all the lovers he had danced with and left. 

That it was a priest, of all things, to have brought him to this. A wry thought, that he had not the spirit to laugh at. 

_A priest with deep, darkling eyes and a bittersweet smile in place of holy water and a crucifix. Ah, a fine, proud figure of a vampire you are, to be felled by such a toothless priest!_

He would have felt ashamed, but he had not the heart. He would have left this place, sought comfort. But the thought of lustful harlots rose in him disdain, and he had no direction. He rather suspected, rather feared, than he had not the will to leave. 

But leave he must. He would. 

Then it came, out of nowhere, a high, gusty wail. 

On another night before, he would have fed, or gone away. But he was neither hungry - only mildly surprising himself - nor did he have anywhere to go. He travelled silently to the source of the cry, noted dully the small child caught in one of the many rubble pits in the village. 

She tugged mournfully at her trapped foot, glaring balefully up at him, as if it were somehow his fault. 

"Can't get lose. Help me, mister." 

He regarded her dispassionately. 

"C'mon, mister! You're a vamp're, y'r strong enough." 

Despite himself, he was impressed. 

Silently, he stepped into the pit, freed the captive foot from the rubble, and pulled the girl up behind him. Suitably appeased, she smiled at him. 

"Th'k you, mister." 

Now he recognised her, now, even through the bangs streaking her face, plastered to her skull by the driving rain. 

"D'you know where the church is, mister? I kinda got lost in the storm But I really need to see Broth'r Touru, I really hafta!" 

It was one and the same, it had to be. The rising desperation in her voice sent a chill down his spine. 

"Why do you have to talk to Hanagata?" 

"You know Broth'r Touru? Then you can take me to him, I hafta tell him!" 

"Tell him of what?" Unconsciously, he had knelt down, grasping her shoulders with urgency, staring into her solemn child face. 

"Mama said that he's hiding a vampire in the church, so da and the rest are gonna hunt it down - and she says they'll kill him too! I gotta tell him!" 

His sullen eyes betrayed none of the gripping fear that clutched his heart. 

"How came you here? What says your mother to this?" 

"I was _runnin'_. Mama can't run as fast as me. It's imp'rtant." 

Stared at her eyes. 

"Go home, child." 

"I hafta tell Broth'r Touru! I don't want him to die!" 

"I'll tell him. Go home, it's not safe." 

"I wanna go too!" 

"Hush, child. It's not safe. Go home, or I'll bite." 

Revealing his fangs. 

"You won't. I wanna go." 

He stared at her, perplexed now. 

"How know you I will not?" 

"Only bad vampires do that." 

"I'm a bad vampire." 

"Hn. You can't be a bad vampire if you know Broth'r Touru." 

He liked it. The sound of it, the feel. 

Abruptly, he caught the girl up around the waist, made back for the church, swift of foot. 

* * * * * * * 

He hadn't expected them. 

Or more accurately, he had known of the possibility, but hadn't considered the scenario, nor had been willing to factor them into the equation. 

Perhaps he simply hadn't wanted them. 

Well, he certainly hadn't wanted this, he thought, as he backed away, clutching the hand of the girl tightly with an absent concern. The girl, on her part, retreated behind his voluminous cloak, wide eyes peering frightenedly at these people she had known all her life, faces grim and cruel, a tableau of twisted humanity in the glowering light of their torches, gripping instead to the monster as if he were her only lifeline. 

So many to one. A decade ago, he might have bared his fangs and welcomed the sport. But now there were too many, he was weak, and he had not the heart for. The thirst, perhaps, but not the heart. 

"Leave me be," his smooth voice rang clear across the night as, for the first time, he spoke to pursuers rather than fought, "I have but one last task, and I will leave your village forever. I swear it." 

Their faces barely flickered, they stared at him, impassive, as if they hadn't understood a word he spoke, or hadn't spoken at all. There was a harsh rattling, and one spat at his feet. 

"Trust the word of a vampire, I think not!" 

"Such words from a _warrior_ that outnumbers one to so many? I like your honour, sire!" 

He wheeled round, casting a bold gaze from side to side of the mob. 

"Come now, you have me, cornered like a lamb. Would any of you take me on alone, goodmen boys? I promise you, sirs, if you come as one, I'll wound a good many of your parts, but I'll sheathe my claws one on one." 

There was a panicked stir through the crowd, no one stepped forth, nor dared move together. 

"I like your honour." He mocked again. "I have spilled no blood in your village, and I shall not. You have no claim to me. And now I shall leave, I think." 

He turned, a phantom echo of a hammering heartbeat in his ears, a sweet relief fussing about his core. 

It fled, not a second later, as a scream pierced the night, first muffled by locked doors, then shrill and clear and urgent as shutters were unbolted and flung open. 

"The child!" 

He spun back, horror etched in his face, a betrayed glance thrown down at the white little face staring up at his own, struck dumb. Dim lights sprung up in windows all over now, and the previously silent houses were now rent with the anxious cries of women and mothers. 

"That's Miller's girl! The youngest one!" A loud voice supplied. A frantic oath was issued, and a quick hand darted out from the crowd, a rough man with coarse limbs, that snatched the girl from his numb, unprotesting fingers. 

"You would touch my daughter, would you?!" the man bellowed, retreating aside, the girl clamped roughly in his bearish arms. 

"No, da - NO!' the girl screamed now, childish voice startled into urgency, "No, da, he nev'r meant to hurt me, da! He's _good_ -" 

"Shut your trap, git!" the man cursed, and to his vague revulsion, cuffed her round the head a couple of heavy blows. 

The girl's new wails mingled with the women's shrieks to weave a frenetic panpipe howl that was all the same to his ears. It was over, the game was over, was lost, and the men were murmuring now, and advancing as he backed away. And he knew, like a poker player with too much at stake, that he had given it away with the horror on his face, the horror, and he was only too human despite himself, only too human, and anything remotely human, even as remotely so as he, could be killed. 

And as he turned to flee, even as he spun himself into nothing but darkness and air, leaving his pursuers behind, there was the freezing hot piercing of wood in his back, sliding home crudely, yet precisely like a surgeon's knife, and he knew, of all the stakes he had ever tasted, this would be the last. 

* * * * * * * 

The doors of the church were open, the building darker within than without. He stepped slowly, deliberately over the threshold, soundlessly, gathering the edges of the doors, sliding them shut behind him, sliding in the bolt. The wood, where he touched it, blistered his cold flesh. He took no notice. 

The priest was at the altar, on his knees in pious prayer. He picked his way over, silently. 

"Hana-chan." 

No sooner had the priest risen, than he turned and saw him, face stricken, fell to his knees again. His hands flew to his back, and he pulled him as near as he could, in a desperate clasp. 

"Forgive me!" he cried, and he could see that his face was streaked with tears, fresh ones flowing, "I have not loved so long, I had forgotten how it was to love. I had thought only to send you away to protect you, but, Lord forgive me, I cannot live without you, I knew that only just." 

He swallowed, parted his lips in need, eyes pleading, glimmering darkly by moonlight. His voice was low now, broken, needful. 

"I have not known such pain. I though my heart would break from wanting. I could not speak but hear your name, I could not see but glimpse your face. I tried casting all off for my worship, but I found myself poor and wanting, and perhaps very selfish, but I need you with me. All else is of little consequence. I would have you fly, but I would fly with you. I cannot send you away again, I would die! I would leave everything I have, everything I ever owned, I would, if I could, but I cannot, tell you I would forsake even my Lord, if that you would bring me with you, but all else I would surrender - I would follow you to the ends of the earth! I would you have me, body and soul, if only, by my Lord, you would promise never to leave me more!" 

The priest's desperate cry echoed in the hallowed reaches of the church. He could only look down at him with sad, darkful eyes. 

"I love you." He whispered. A trail of red escaped his eye, trailed a dark path down his cheek, splashed onto the priest's pale one, where his finger traced the mingled course it took with the priest's own clear tears. 

"You...will not promise me this?" the priest asked, a forlorn, broken, _confused_ whisper. 

"I love you." He said again. It was all he had left to give. 

The priest's eyes widened now, set, and darkened. His hands crept upwards, to find the stake, to realise that the wet that stained his fingers was much much darker than rainwater. 

Much much darker than, though not much darker than a vampire's, tears. 

"Oh, no." Defeated. 

He buried his face in the vampire's cloak. 

"There is no way to remove it?" 

"It is too deep for that, sweetling." 

"Can there be no other way?" 

"There cannot." 

"We have not yet seen Kanagawa." 

"We have not." 

"We never will, will we?" 

"I fear so, beloved." 

"Will it not heal?" 

"I am too weak for that. I have not fed too long." 

The priest raised his head now, gripped his cloak with urgency. 

"Then take my blood." 

He had resigned himself to his fate. For the first time since then, alarm fluttered at his heart. 

"It will help you, will it not?" 

"Yes, it will." He admitted. 

"It will kill you, sweet, what I need." 

"Take it!" a fever burned in the priest's dark eyes, "I cannot live without you! What is my life worth if you were to die?!" 

"Silly thing." He smiled fondly, stroking the pale cheek. "What makes you think I would want to live without you either?" 

It was the priest's turn to smile, a wan, wavering construct. 

"You...even if your wings were made of glass, you could fly away. You are such a strong person...I am only nothing. I would have you live, and I live within you. If you died, I would too die. I would be your sacrifice, though I am no longer a virgin. But seeing as you were the one who broke my chastity, I don't think you would mind." 

"Precious -" 

"I forbid you die. Would you refuse me this?" 

"I must." 

"You must not. You are my saviour, Mister Vampire, sir, you gave me love once more. Would you let my saviour die?" 

"Silly boy, you are my saviour..." 

"Then let me be so again." 

They stared at each other, will to will. But the priest's eyes softened, and he spoke low and soft. 

"I love you." 

"Ah, la." He smiled sadly, "That's the first time you have said so. It feels the better to have heard it." 

"I would have you smile forever," the priest unbuttoned his collar, bared his neck, "I will not let you die, my love." He murmured, and there was steel in the silk. 

He warred, averred, was at loss. 

He leaned down, broke soft skin with fangs. 

His arms crept around the priest, steadying themselves to hold firm the suddenly pliant frame. He felt rather than heard the soft gasp as the first pulse of blood flooded his mouth - and, ah! His senses, so beautifully, so rich and pure and sweet. 

It was heady, it was divine. It was of heaven. He drank the blood of a priest, he tasted the blood of an angel. 

He loved. 

He broke the flow, kissed the punctures, and loosened his hold. The priest steadied himself, blinked heavy-lidded eyes in confusion. 

"What's wrong, love?" 

"I cannot, darling." 

The eyes widened, focused sharply. 

"I must die as I must. I cannot, sweet. I have learnt to love." 

"No!" 

"Yes." And even such strength was ebbing. Grasping the stake, he pulled, casting it onto the floor. Dark blood spilled, painted the altar. He floundered, and the priest eased his way to the floor. 

"No..." But it was only a low moan, and he smiled painfully to dispel the priest's distress. 

"I have to thank you, my darling. For teaching me to love." 

"Love..." 

"Indeed, you were right. It is the best thing I have ever known in my entire life." 

"No..." 

"Perhaps...perhaps now I have a soul. Perhaps...now I'll go...to heaven...and we'll meet..." 

"Love..." 

"I love you." A fading whisper. 

The priest closed his eyes in anguish. Bent to kiss his lips once. 

"And I, you, love. Always." 

He smiled, a gentle smile, that he had only shown this once in all his sixty-seven years. 

And with such a smile on his lips, he ceased to feel. 

The priest sat back. He had never felt such pain. He had never felt such love. The vampire was gone now, he had never felt such loss. He sat there, next to his lover's corpse - there, the disintegration was beginning, he would not even have this shell much longer - and knew not what to do. 

It was so then, eternal sadness. This was how it felt to be eternally sad. He wondered if he would die from the pain alone. 

But there was a knocking at the door. A furious shouting. 

"Burn it down!" he heard, and the crackle of flame. Felt the sudden heat, and the flickering tongues of flame. 

He knew how the ending went. There was only one. Even if it were damning, as it surely must be, or perhaps, surely might be. Even if it were wrong of him to think so. Even if it were wrong. 

But it had been wrong for him, in the first place, to shield a creature of darkness. 

Wrong to love. 

And yet...it could never be wrong, he thought, to love. 

Love... 

And he smiled the same smile, tears coursing down as he smiled up painfully, at the sky, at the consecrated holiness above him, at his Lord. And his fingers found the stake surely, and he drove it home, through his heart, just as sure. Red blossomed on his chest, blossomed on his lips, and he smiled once more, this time a last time, down at his lover, his love, and very quietly, lily arms across is lover's chest, dark head laid gently on the same, died. 

The fire raged, would consume it, would consume all to ashes. And above, not very much different from the promise she had made five nights ago, cold and impassive, the moon. 

**END**

  


Truth be told, it was way too awkward, and very contrived in places. But what's done is done. After having this scene haunt me for the better part of the year, it's a bit anticlimaxical to actually write it, and badly too. I hope it'll serve, though. It's just upwards of 10000 words, making it the longest fic I've ever done. I know some of you have actually been following this series, and I thank you for it, and I hope you get to see this, and I hope the end was adequate. 

**Translations/Explanations :**

**Consummatum Est** - It is completed 

Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. The show's over. 


End file.
